


Hold

by Senshi



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Growing Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senshi/pseuds/Senshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they kiss, they are seventeen and drifting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time they kiss, they are seventeen and drifting.

The lights of Rustboro are faintly glowing, flickering on one by one as the night falls. The little island in the middle of Route 104 isn't particularly big, but it’s enough to accommodate the two of them. Nearby, Wallace’s Wailmer is chasing off Lotads lazily, its low groans just barely skirting over the sound of waves lapping at the sands. Summer was drawing to a close, and Steven feels the beginnings of an autumn breeze as he traces the rough bark of the lone tree on the island while Wallace watches him, aqua eyes as bright and as distant as the stars that are beginning to appear in the darkened skies. They say little, because Steven’s the talker, and he had talked about nearly everything that was to be talked about earlier that day (the weather, his training, school, rocks). What he doesn’t say is the obvious: that Wallace won’t be there tomorrow, that he would be off to the other side of the country, and that there was a very good chance that they would never see each other again. That wouldn’t be much of an issue, because they knew that childhood friends weren’t meant to last. The problem was that Steven had always taken Wallace for granted- his unwavering smile, the advice he gave, the way he’d twist stray green locks around his finger when he was nervous. The problem was that Steven was going to wake up to a day without any of that tomorrow.

When Wallace’s hand nudges against Steven’s in their little dance around the tree, Steven jolts to attention, breath hitched as he pulls back. “Sorry,” Steven mumbled, the darkness settling around them just enough to obscure the light from his blue eyes. “I’ve kept you out late.” The apology is sincere, but the excuse hangs between them. They’ve been out later (for lamer, more immature reasons), but that hardly seems to matter.

"It’s fine." Wallace had an uncanny manner of speaking, a way of making the apocalypse sound like afternoon tea if he really tried. Steven found it confusing at first (at eight, he’d heard "Let’s play tag" and "My parents are dead" spoken in the same deadpan tone). Recently, it became endearing, but now, it was somewhere between irritating and sobering.

"Don’t you have to get up early tomorrow?" The conversation was pointless in masking the truth, but Steven was determined to not speak of It, as if he was ten and skirting around saying bad words.

Steven can just barely make out Wallace’s shrug in the darkness. “It’s not that important. I’m an early riser, anyway, unlike a  _certain_  guy who has his Skarmory peck him awake every day.” Steven feels the soft punch from Wallace landing on his shoulder, and he laughs nervously. Right, of course.

The sound of soft waves tugging at sand is all that is heard for a little while as they sit by the receding tide, and then Steven finally breaks the silence when the beginnings of stars begin twinkling.

"I miss you already." It’s mumbled, and accompanied by a rustle of fabric as he clenches his shirt cuff. "I miss you and you’re just sitting next to me, like-"

 _Like nothing’s going to ever happen._  Steven doesn't quite get to that, however, as Wallace’s breath is suddenly on his, and his nose is colliding with Wallace’s- awkward, tense, heart-stopping. He hears- feels- Wallace’s breath hitch, and then cool ocean wind replacing the scent of Wallace’s shampoo. “S-Sorry, I-“

Steven’s hand finds the side of Wallace’s face, enough to guide his head to the right angle before swiftly pressing their lips together. It’s not exactly what Steven imagined a first kiss to be (for one, how come he couldn't breathe), but it’s enough. When Steven finally pulls away, Wallace is breathless, less so from the kiss than from embarrassment. Steven has the audacity to lean in for another, though Wallace turns his head at the last second so the kiss falls on his cheek instead.

"You’re a terrible kisser," Steven remarks, hand running through Wallace’s hair. "At least angle your face correctly if you’re gonna do it." Wallace is hardly listening, though, and gives Steven’s cold hand a squeeze in apology.

"Write. Please." The hand squeezes tighter.

When Wallace leaves on the back of his Wailmer and Steven on Skarmory, nothing else is said of the kiss and the unspoken promise. Steven meant to write to Wallace the next day, but tomorrow turns into next week and next week into soon, into never. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time they kiss, they are strangers and evasive.

The second time they kiss, they are strangers and evasive.

Steven is still pulling leaves out of his hair when he finally finds the ladder that leads down to Fortree Gym to earn his sixth badge in less than five months. He gets a little dizzy just by looking down, but he somehow makes it down the ladder without falling. He’d only been in Fortree for a day or so, but he was already itching to leave. Steven preferred resting on sturdy, solid ground, not hammocks in tree houses that creaked and swayed at the tiniest of disturbances. He had to admit that the views from the treetops were nice, but the uneasiness that came with that kind of lifestyle was something Steven was eager to put behind him as soon as possible. So eager that, in fact, he opens the door to the gym a little too violently, and nearly knocks the wind out of the person on the other side.

Which is a funny thing, because Steven only needed one glance at a flash of green hair before the wind gets knocked out of him. His hand drops the door handle like it’s hot, and for a moment, stares at his own reflection in the glass of the gym door before it creaks open again, revealing a familiar face.

"Steven?" Wallace’s voice is deeper, his shoulders broader, and his crystal-clear gaze subdued to a half-lidded reservation, a pool of thoughts that overwhelm Steven. But it’s Wallace. Wallace, collar turned up in a way that makes Steven stare a little longer at his exposed collarbones. Wallace, fingers curled around the door handle, the same fingers that had curled around Steven’s palm years ago. Wallace, in form; the same, yet indifferent, and eyes brimming with the faltering of lost promises, reminding Steven of sleepless nights when he’d try to put his heart into words, onto paper, in a letter- heck, a postcard- that was never finished, never sent. He thinks of the stack of unopened letters in his drawer at home, dusty, abandoned, unforgettable.

"Wallace."

They end up sitting together in one of the treetop cafes as twenty-year-olds, nervously chatting over untouched lunches, smiling over old jokes, hilariously silent through intervals of minutes that pass like hours. It’s an awkward affair, because Steven’s trying to make up for three years of silence in an hour, and because there’s something in the way that Wallace looks at him that tugs at the guilt welling in his chest. It’s not until dessert that Steven finally stops talking about his newly evolved Cradily and leans in, breath shuddering over the banana split that they’re sharing. “I missed you.”

"I missed you too." There’s a soft clink as Wallace’s spoon hits the bottom of the dish, through the frozen banana and whipped cream. The words hold some sort of finality in them, but Wallace’s tone makes the phrase seem unfinished. "I’m… it’s been a few years."

Steven tries to carry on, ignoring the suddenly tense atmosphere. “I’ve read about your contest wins in the papers.” Steven doesn’t mention how he keeps the newspaper clippings, but the way Wallace’s gaze softens on him is enough. “I’ve always thought about jumping on Skarmory and abandoning Devon duties, abandoning training for a day so I could maybe attend and watch and talk to you in person.”

Steven’s words lock into his throat, but Wallace is there to pick up the pieces. “It’s alright. We’ve been busy with our lives.” Separate lives, Steven thinks, but doesn’t say. “I’m just glad that we’re here now.”

He always had a way of nice things in a sad way, Steven thinks. His hand twitches, and then he’s reaching across the table, enclosing Wallace’s fingers in his own. “I still feel the same way as I did three years ago.” Wallace releases an audible breath. It’s a plea, one that Steven can’t hear over the sound of his own voice. “I still-“

"Don’t." Wallace’s tone isn’t bitter, isn’t accusing; it’s raw, and it tumbles out, rough and uneven, broken and charred. Steven doesn’t know what kind of expression he has right now, but it’s not like it matters. Not really. "I’m sorry." The words are a consolation prize, wrapped up in things Steven isn’t sure he wants to untangle. The hand slips from underneath his, and Wallace is getting up, placing some money on the table for the tip.

Steven’s head is racing, and he grabs Wallace’s sleeve, pulling him down in vain. “Wallace? What’s wrong?” He’s scared, he’s a child, he’s the six-year-old who breaks the arm off his toy soldier figurine because he’s held onto it too tightly. Wallace is biting onto his lips, and Steven’s pulled him close enough to smell his cologne. It’s primrose with a tinge of poppy, and faintly intrusive to Steven’s nostrils. “Wallace?”

The green-haired trainer is holding his breath. “Kiss me.”

Steven does, but it’s not enough to make him stay.

—-

Winona is the newest gym leader, but despite that, she goes down about as quickly as the veteran Wattson had a few months prior. Steven respects the way she treats her Pokemon and the spirit that surges in her as she commands them. It’s not nearly enough to take down his team, but she’s innovative enough that he picks up a thing or two from her, and vice versa. After Winona’s Altaria falls before Steven’s Cradily, he goes up to shake her hand. Her smile is pleasant in the defeat, and his is less of a smirk.

He catches a whiff of her perfume as she pins the shiny feather badge on him.

—-

He’s nearly nineteen when he meets Winona. She’s spunky, quirky, older, and reminds him of Steven in a way that toys with his heartstrings. She’s a rising star in the eyes of the league when she meets Wallace. He’s quiet, reserved, more mature, and reminds her of rolling clouds on the day after it rains. Winona is the master of the skies, but not of the river water that runs through Route 119, which is why she finds Wallace an intriguing trainer after he dives for her fallen goggles one summer morning. It’s also why he ends up teaching her how to swim. The way she clings onto him through flowing water has Wallace’s heart aching as his mind conjures up images of his failed attempts at getting Steven to understand what buoyancy was. Winona’s hands are his hands if he’d just close his eyes and hold his breath. Of course, he can’t hold his breath forever.

Wallace doesn’t take loneliness well. He and Winona are resting against a tree in early autumn when her hand brushes against his. Something in him breaks. With that, he concedes, if only because he can’t stop thinking about how she holds his gaze like Steven had, once upon a time.


End file.
